


Cling to You

by Xoxo_Sadie21



Category: Insomniac's Spider-Man, Marvel, Spider-Man(PS4)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-07-25 12:23:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16197473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xoxo_Sadie21/pseuds/Xoxo_Sadie21
Summary: Next - and final - part will be posted in a week or so, hopefully! I'm still working on it! I hope you guys like this part! :')) I had fun writing it.





	1. Cling to You | Part 1

You weren’t the one to openly express your fear. There were times when it just became too much to even comprehend that all you could do was just say nothing and eventually give into it. Because  _that_ certainly was the way to do it.

There were cruel people in this world who didn’t care about the life you had, the life you lived, the future you would conquer. Those people were called villains. You were one of the very few and unfortunate people that was at the end of the shitstick this time. Although, you  _couldn_ ’t really be surprised. Being best friend of Peter Parker, the ever-so charming and  _arrogant_ — to his enemies — came with its debacles, but you wouldn’t trade it in for anything. Knowing his alter-ego was just as fun as knowing the person behind the mask. 

“Don’t look down!” Peter’s voice was muffled and absolutely more petrified behind his mask than you’d  _ever_ heard it.

_Like you’d ever look down._

You gripped onto his hand, the one that wasn’t holding onto his other-half: Mary-Jane Watson. The woman you’d been envious of since she first stole the heart of your best friend. 

You said nothing in return, and screwed your eyes tight. How were you supposed to react? The Green Goblin — or Norman Osborn — had given Peter an ultimatum; save you or save MJ. In retaliation to his slow decision making, Norman got fed up and let go — only wanting to see him  _suffer_ — and before either of you could fall to your death, Peter had lunged forward and grabbed both of your arms. And now, here you were, dangling off the side of one of New York’s most  _highest_ skyscrapers with nothing but a mind full of fear and chest heavy with defeat.

Peter, who was injured by Norman himself, was barely hanging onto either of you. Even with his super strength, he wasn’t able to pull both of you up; the wound on his lower abdomen was bleeding profusely.

Between MJ trying to keep her hold on Peter in the most unnatural way, and you merely dangling there as if begging the universe to screw this up even more, he was having a hard time processing the situation. You could hear him grunting in between the soothing words that were dripping from his lips and the soft cries that tumbled past MJ’s. He kept saying things like:  _it’s okay, I won’t let you fall_ , or  _I’m so sorry,_  and  _are you okay?_

MJ would answer first because she was the only one who was thinking more clearly, and because she was more quick to reassure him. You, on the other hand found it a little difficult to reply, but you were okay. 

Except there was a fine line between  _saying_ you were  _okay_ and actually  _feeling_ like you were  _okay_.

You opened your eyes, losing determination to keep yourself from panicking, and chanced a look over at MJ. She was clinging to his arm for dear life, and you could practically sense the fear radiating off of her in barbaric waves. The dilated pupils also confirmed the inevitable:  _she did not want to die_.

You, however, didn’t see another choice. MJ meant too much to Peter, despite the knowledge of that cutting right through your heart like a steak knife. It was the truth, and if anything happened to Peter you’d certainly wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. You’d wander aimlessly like a lost soul who was torn from it’s other half because that’s  _exactly_  who he was. He just didn’t  _know_.

Plus, you knew the other outcome of this situation; you’d hold onto him until he found a way to pull the both of you up but on the account of him losing too much blood. You couldn’t risk that. 

Not again. 

Peter’s gloved hand was gripping at your forearm — and  _tight_. You didn’t have the chance to complain about how painful it was, you didn’t even have enough time to think before his grip on your arm wavered. Eyes closing automatically from fear of heights, you held your breath, ignoring the sound of MJ’s gasping cries and Peter’s deep groans as his fingers loosely gripped at your wrist before your entire hand could slip through.

_“Peter!”_

“It’s o-okay! I’ve got you!” 

With your heart down in the pit of your stomach, your eyes fluttered open slowly, and your fingers settled on his wrist. You breathed out, the wind whipping the smaller strands of your hair across your cheeks, making it hard to focus on his words.

“Pete,” You spoke with a trembling voice, but it still managed to rise slightly above the frightened whimpers of MJ, and the howling winds. “You gotta let me go. You’re going to bleed out if you don’t.”

“What? No!” His voice was strained, and if it weren’t for that damn mask of his covering his face you might’ve been able to see the wild expression there complete with the overwhelming amount of panic. 

“You’ll catch me, I know you will. Just do it.” You pleaded with a desperate undertone.

“I’m— I’m not dropping you!” He shouted, enraged by the fact that you would request such a thing and  _especially_ from him.

“[Y/N], no!” MJ followed, sounding utterly appalled.

“I trust you, okay?” 

“Out of the question.” 

“Pete—”

“I’m  _never_  letting you go, [Y/N]!” And for a moment, you were taken aback by the impetuosity in his voice, the absolute  _raw_  emotion he let bleed out just for those six words. 

You let yourself believe that those words meant more than what you knew they meant. You thought that maybe if you could just picture him saying those words to you under different circumstances, maybe if his girlfriend wasn’t right beside you, begging alongside him, that maybe you wouldn’t have to be reliving this day. But you had to and you knew you were here in hopes to change the outcome of future days ahead. You were here for a reason, and you wouldn’t be the reason for the consequence —  _not this time._  

The panic that gripped at your heart rendered you speechless; you were caught in a quandary, one that was so crucial because your heart belonged to the man who held onto you for dear life, and you needed to let go in order to keep him alive. But letting go meant that you had to disobey the one person you always stood up for, the one person who had the ability to make you crumble to your knees, and give him anything he wanted and  _more_. Peter Parker was the man who had the power to bend your will without knowing it, and he could do it all with just by breathing. Going against his words, possibly killing yourself in order to save him, was something you signed up for the first day you met him. 

But the heartbreaking reality of his heart belonging to someone else had you speaking the words neither of you were prepared to hear. 

“You don’t have to because I will.” You hesitantly unwrapped your fingers from his wrist, and his automatically tightened around yours. 

“ _No_.” 

You held your breath. 

“[Y/N], don’t do this.” MJ cried. 

“If you let go, so help me I will—”

“Peter,” you spoke low, and determined. “I trust you.” 

“ _Don’t_.” 

“It’s okay.” 

The eyes on his suit widened, “No, [Y/N], don’t—”

Without thinking, you yanked with all your might which emitted a laborious shout from Peter while simultaneously letting go of your wrist from the biting exertion. 

It was too late to think or scream, too much was happening, and you couldn’t even  _move_.

He screamed. You held your breath as air gushed throughout your entire body, and braced yourself from the inevitable impact of death while your hands clamored for non-existent handles. You slammed your eyes closed, and the last thing you were able to see were the iodine colored skies above. You were too far away now to see Peter or MJ, but you the distance wasn’t enough to drown out the anguished, breaking cry that tore straight through his chest.

You knew Peter would save you — he had to. And if this was the Peter you knew, the Peter you loved and apprised, then you knew he would come for you. 

And you were proven correct when only milliseconds later you were jerked to the side as air was forced from your chest. The collision emitted a loud gasp from you as a pair of arms encompassed around your frame and a shuttering breath of air escaped your rescuer’s lips. Almost immediately, you burrowed your face into the  _oh-so_  familiar neck of your best friend’s and let out the breath you had ingested when falling. The familiar  _thwip_  sound from Peter’s webbing clouded your ears, and it was almost enough to bring a sigh of relief. 

Your arms tightened around him just as his did around you, and you felt your cheeks heat up from the proximity.  _I knew you’d catch me_ , you thought as a foolish grin danced across your face. 

You wanted this moment to last forever. Being this close to Peter, taking in his scent, or being in his arms like this… it was a vulnerable moment. You didn’t get many of those.

Before the moment could delve deeper, you felt your feet touch pavement. Peter landed securely on another roof, except his arms weren’t making any sign of detaching from you. 

Not that you were complaining. 

A wetness touched your stomach and soaked through the fabric of your shirt. Realization dawned on you, and you pulled away from him, eyes wide and mouth parted in horror. Your eyes immediately flew down to his slightly torn suit, and you stepped forward to staunch the blood flow, but you couldn’t even get one word out before Peter ripped his mask off. His eyes were ablaze with a certain fire you’d never witnessed before. It almost scared you, and even as he stared at you with a burning rage in his eyes, he still managed to be the most stunning person you had the pleasure of knowing. From the freckles on his face to the warmth that was encapsulated in his his brown eyes, it all took your breath away. His beauty were both physical and mental; his smile resembled every sunrise, every wave of every ocean, and every flower the world created. 

“What the  _hell_  were you thinking?!” His voice could cut through paper. He was  _mad_. No, scratch that, he was so far past being mad it was a blinding rage. 

You stepped back and held up your blood stained hands, “Pete, c’mon. You caught me, didn’t you?” 

There was no reason for you to joke about this, but you had to alleviate the tension somehow, right?

“Don’t joke right now, [Y/N],” he heaved a sigh, agitated with you already. His eyes were still wide, darting across your body with concern, undoubtedly trying to find any signs of a hidden lie — any wounds he didn’t notice before. But you were fine, you were fine and a part of himself was still angered by the fact that there was a possibility that he would’ve been too late to save you. The thought alone sent shivers down his body.  

“Peter—” you cut yourself off, your breath hitching as a lone tear slowly slid down his cheek. You had the overwhelming urge to reach forward and swipe it away because if there was anything you  _hated_  seeing, it was to witness him cry. There was an endless amount of guilt that was lodged into your chest at the pure desolation on his face. There was no question about why he was crying, there wasn’t a question that needed asked — you knew why. Sometimes crying was the only way the human body could drain all of that panic and utter hopelessness. 

“What if I hadn’t got to you in time?” He took a shaky breath, and closed in on himself, curling his arms into his stomach right where his wound was. 

“Hey,” you stepped forward, hands outstretched towards him,  _needing_  to hold him. “You saved me, Peter. I trusted you to save me and you did, don’t freak out. You  _know_  I freak out when you freak out.” 

“Yeah, well I almost lost you. I think I deserve to feel this way.” He argued, sniffling and quickly wiping at his cheeks with the back of his gloved hand. 

You didn’t acknowledge it. 

“You should get that checked out.” Your eyes darted to the wound on his stomach, and then back up to his face, catching his attention. His eyes followed yours, looking down at the blood that slowly seeped out from his suit, and then he looked back up at you. His shoulders sagged with defeat, eyes bloodshot and the skin underneath them puffy. Your heart clenched at the vulnerability he so easily bared to you, although you couldn’t help but feel privileged to see this side of him.

He remained silent, and you contemplated on how was the best way to deter his focus from your recklessness to the present — to anything other than pain or the thought of losing you. Wordlessly, he shrugged and avoided your eyes as if there was something else on his mind, as if he still couldn’t believe you did what you had just done. 

Like he wanted to know why you put so much trust in him—

—how you sacrificed your life without a second thought. 

_None_  of it was making sense to him. 

Would confessing be the right way to go? To finally tell him how you felt, and hope that this would alter your future in any way, change how it would end. You could only hope, but if you knew anything at all, it was that this world was cruel, and that it didn’t give second chances — not even when you had the power to do  _just_  that. 

“Peter, I’m not going anywhere.” You promised with a whisper, expression softening. Maybe you’d still be able to salvage this. Still, he was quiet. You sucked in a huge breath of air when he reached for his mask, but before he could get it on his head, you panicked and stepped forward. “Please—”

“No, don’t do that,” he hissed, jerking away from your outstretched hand. His eyes were narrowed into slits, locking you in his heated gaze. You gulped and took a warning step backwards, not familiar with this side of him, but not opposed to denying it terrified you. “Did a single thought cross your mind when you did that? You trust me  _too_ much, [Y/N].”

“Excuse me?” You guffawed, eyes widening. His external demeanor didn’t change or waver in the slightest, not even when you challenged him by taking a step forward. It was a dangerous move on your part, but you also wanted him to know that this wasn’t just about you — you did that to save him.

“I didn’t stutter.”

“Hey, now that’s not fair.” You protested.

“What isn’t fair is you putting too much faith in me.” He backfired, his eyes, brown and beautiful — and yet replete with so much abandonment, it was difficult to fathom what he felt in that moment.

Frustration spiked your blood, but you remained calm. You didn’t make a scene because Lord knows you’ve made plenty. Instead you just breathed in and out to hopefully cause the irritation to diminish.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I let go in order for you to save  _both_ of us.  _I let go_ because you couldn’t decide for yourself, I took all of that pressure off of you. I let go because I knew you wouldn’t — because you’re the most stubborn person in the world.” His face paled, being that it was from loss of blood or overall he was just shocked by your outburst, you couldn’t tell. He was at loss for words, completely and utterly speechless and you hadn’t even confessed yet.

Peter merely stared back at you bug-eyed, his brown irises glinting with light from New York’s beautiful sunset. How he managed to look even more beautiful was beyond you, but you were just pleased with being close to him despite how angry he was with you and vice versa. Not that you were upset with him. You were just stunned by the fact that he thought you wouldn’t have faith in him because you had every  _ounce_ of faith in that man. You looked up to him in more ways than one. Peter was your inspiration, your motivation, your life force. He was…  _everything_.

“Do you remember when we first met?” You choked out, eyes revealing the happiness you held for him on that special day.

And a special day it was.

You were one of the newcomers at F.E.A.S.T. — working for May Parker and helping out whenever you could; you were nervous and scared being that it was your first day. 

You could remember it so clearly; the way you accidentally bumped into him while carrying a stack of three boxes in your arms. You were trying to balance them without tripping and falling because you were a very clumsy person. But you dismissed the fact that in order to not trip and fall you would need to be able to see in front of you. You rammed into a firm chest right as the boxes from your arms spilled to the floor, and before you could fall, muscle-corded arms were steady around your waist. Your eyes found a warm pair of brown ones and you could’ve sworn that you felt the whole world rush through your veins. Love at first sight, some might argue.

“Wha—?”

“Do you?” You pressed with a roll of your eyes.

“Yes, of course I remember,” he breathed out, hand reaching for his wound. “[Y/N]—”

“And do you remember when you told me that being scared was okay? That even though I had nothing to be afraid of that it was still okay to feel scared — to let my fear fuel me?” He nodded both hesitantly and eagerly. “Well, I’m about to let my fear take over and I’m about to say something that might cause you to push me away, but —” you breathed in, eyes closing momentarily before opening once more and locking in on him. “I need you to trust me, alright?” 

He became serious within seconds, eyes focused and narrowed with perception as if he were trying to figure you out. You had his complete attention, and even though you loved when he looked at you, you couldn’t help but lack that confidence you had only moments ago. 

“Okay, so I’m just going to lay it out for you. Plain and simple. Right here and right now. Like a band-aid being ripped off—”

“[Y/N]?”

You hummed distantly, feeling heat devour your cheeks as you found yourself locked in Peter’s endearing gaze. Appalled by the sheer artlessness of his expression, you suddenly wanted to hide underneath a rock. And since when did he step closer to you? He was like two feet in front of you, eyes soft and concerning — he was  _so incredibly enchanting_. Everything about him lured you in like iron to a magnet. 

“Whatever it is… It wouldn’t have the power to keep me away from you. You’re my best friend.” His words were sickly sweet, yet his voice was semi-whispering and husky. 

“Yeah, well,” you rubbed at your forehead with the back of your near blood-stained hand and gave an elevated sigh although you felt that it was forced. “This will be _a lot_  to take in—” your eyes find his, and you disembouge the sadness you could no longer harbor. “Especially for you.” 

A frown painted his face, but not even that could transcend the constellations in his eyes. This only prompted that you had worried him by saying those words, and you hoped that in the end it would be worth it. 

“You can tell me.” 

Your heart danced to the imaginary song of his lips, playing with fire, trotting on a dangerous path. Fingers hesitantly trifled together, nervous energy bubbled up within your chest, corrupting your thoughts.  _Just do it_ , your subconscious roared. 

“Okay,” you stepped forward and reached for his hands, taking them in your distinctively tinier ones. You couldn’t look up when you confessed because then you knew that you’d only be at the mercy of his troubled confusion; eyes wide and pleading to know  _more_. “I love you, Peter.” 

He let out a breathy laugh, “I love you t—”

“No. Not like that. Not as friends,” you whispered. “I’m  _in love_  with you.” 

Silence. 

Then finally, you pushed yourself and you looked up. “I’m so in love with you that it makes me sick to my stomach.” You sniffled, but compelled the tears to halt. You wouldn’t cry.  _You wouldn’t cry_. “I’ve been in love with you since the  _moment_ we met.” 

For a moment, it looked as if he was having a hard time processing your words, but then soon after you were close enough to see the realization dawn on him. Your confession most certainly knocked the air from his lungs quicker than a wrecking ball ever could. 

“You…” he gulped and stumbled backwards, his hands slipping from yours. You held them out still for precaution. “How— uh— when did this happen? I mean, why— why—” he clutched at his wound, face placid as an overwhelming amount of shock flitted through his blood, his mind. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” 

“Because you’re in love with MJ, and I couldn’t—” a lone tear slid down your cheek, and you hugged your arms to your chest. “I couldn’t do that to either of you.” 

His brows bumped together to form a muddle expression, and he began to shake his head, but you stopped him with a small spurt of teary-eyed laughter. “I see the way you look at her, I know that look,” you poured every ounce of awe into your words, eyes darting across his frame and remembering how it would feel to be held by him once more. “I know because it’s the same way I look at you.” 

If it weren’t for your ability to perfect the art of stoicism, the sadness you portrayed would have stunned him. But fortunately, you were the best at hiding, the best at making people think that you were alright because you’d done it for so,  _so_  long. It wasn’t like you had little experience with loss, with abandonment — because you didn’t. And despite how well Peter knew you, learned your ways, your mannerisms, the way you thought, the way you cared(and maybe a little too much), it still didn’t matter because you were  _always_ hiding. You would hide that lonely, touch-starved part of you longer if you wanted to, but in this moment, there was nothing more foolhardy than the thought of being able to keep Peter to yourself, to hold him and love him, and call him  _yours_.

But life wasn’t fair like that, and neither was love. 

Peter was never going to be yours, and that was just the cold truth. And you’d never be okay with it, but sometimes you had to force yourself to. 

“But you love MJ, and I think I can be okay with that,” if there was any trace of a smile on his face, it was gone the moment you spoke those defeating words. “I’ve gone this far without being yours.” 

He said nothing, yet there was a noticeable drop of his shoulders. 

“Go on,” you mused with an accepting grin, “MJ’s probably worried sick about you. I know I would be.” 

His face twisted into an indescribable expression, but you could see the tears amid the delusion he tried to force out. He didn’t want you to see him so fragile, so weakened by your ruin. 

“Go. I’ll be fine.” 

His eyes flashed over to you, and at the wholehearted assurance on your face, he finally nodded. At his acceptance, you pursed your lips, chin trembling. There was a part of him that was being tugged in your direction, to your side, to hold you and comfort you, but the other part succumbed to the fact that he was in love in MJ and he couldn’t abandon her. 

You watched hopelessly as he turned around and began to walk away, but as he reached the exit, he stopped. You held your breath. His eyes found yours once again. 

“You’ve always been mine too, you know? Just not in the way you thought.” Then with an unabashed grin, he continued to leave. 

When the door slammed shut, you flinched and that was when the first sob escaped the walls you tried to keep up. You were cracking, breaking, shattering. The tears kept falling, 

falling, 

falling. 

Confessing wasn’t supposed to be this heartbreaking, was it? Because if so, you’d never tell the truth again. 

You tilted your chin up towards the sky, and basked in what warmth you could. It was time to go now. The persistent watch on your wrist beeped twice, and you inhaled slowly. 

_Goodbye, Peter._

-

-

-

“Hi, Peter.” 

Tears were still falling from your eyes, tarnishing your cheeks. You couldn’t help it, the feeling of utter abandonment was too strong to overcome, to wash away. But neither did you want to surrender to it because you knew it would strip you of all your vitality. You were a broken human — all that shaped you was slowly crumbling. 

Your knees slowly sank into the mud below you, the heavy downpour drowning out your soft whimpers of bereavement. You touched the cold stone, eyes overflowing with tears at the sight of his name in black lettering. 

_**Loving Son & Best Friend** _

_**Peter Benjamin Parker** _

_**August 10, 2001 - October 3, 2024** _

It was almost too brutal to look at. Your entire existence felt…  _pointless_ , your body was numb with paralyzing grief. He was supposed to stay and live longer than this, he wasn’t supposed to die at twenty-three — that was  _too young_. 

“I’m so sorry.” Your face twisted into agony, and you choked on your sobs. Strained anguish spilled from you like blood from a previously stitched wound. You scooted closer to the stone, and curled around it, trying to find that warmth once more. 

But you couldn’t. 

“It’s all my fault… People died… you died, and I tried to save you, but I wasn’t strong enough. No matter what I do or what I say… it’s never enough to keep you here.” Your body curved with pain, and moans escaped your lips through the suppressed sounds of hiccups. 

Memories flooded your mind.

His smile.

His laugh. 

His voice.

_Him_. 

You don’t remember how long you were clinging onto his headstone, but it felt like hours before someone’s arms wrapped around you and shoveled you into their chest. 

“Shh…” They whispered, voice strained and calm. They were wet, shaking, trying to sooth you. You knew that voice, but it wasn’t enough to stop the animalistic whimpers that tore past your lips, it wasn’t enough to fix that human size hole in your chest. 

But it would be alright. For now. 

“It’s okay.” MJ whispered, brushing your hair from your face as she rocked you back and forth. She kissed your temple and you screwed your eyes shut. “It’s going to be okay.” 

But not even she believed that. 


	2. Cling to You | Part 2

The sunlight poured down on you, leaving a soft glow on your skin. Warmth flooded your veins, your senses — you hummed in pleasure. The heat radiated from from your arms to your stomach and then meandered along the area below your breasts. This feeling was foreign, indistinguishable.

You succumbed to the warmth, humming once more in content before curling into what you knew to be a pillow. Something wet and eminently soft touched your shoulder blade and you shuddered in retaliation. Then as you began to grow accustomed, the sensation disappeared, leaving you feening for the warmth.

“Good morning.” 

Your eyes flung wide open at that, brows instantly bumping together with suspicion. That voice was so familiar… so _welcoming_. A name was stuck on your tongue, your heart skipped a beat. Before you could speak, the warmth — that you figured was a body — pulled you against snug against them. Your body froze at the tender intrusion and you held your breath.

A chuckle, a vibration against your skin— “I know you’re awake.”

Panic raced through your veins, and you squeaked , flinging yourself from the luxury of the comfortable mattress and taking the sheet with you. Instead of a graceful landing, the sheet tangled around your limbs and you stumbled to the floor. You let out an audible _oof_ as the air was forced past your lips.

“Are you okay?” The voice was trying to stifle laughter, but there was no overlooking the obvious worry beneath the surface. 

You _knew_ that voice.

With half of the sheet covering your face, and the other your nude — and _very_ noticeable — body, your breath hitched when you peaked over the top of the sheet, eyes finding a pair of familiar brown ones.

“P-Peter?” Shock registered through your body, and you slowly lowered the sheet from your face, hands curling around it and pressed to your chest.

You had ultimately given up hope. You came into terms with Peter’s death, and that he was supposed to stay dead because you couldn’t just  _reverse_ someone’s death. It didn’t work like that despite already having the mindset of wanting to try it.

But you guessed life had other plans for you.

Because that was him, in the flesh despite how he seemed more wiser and radiant than before. His hair was tousled, sticking up in random places, and his eyes were alert with confusion in response to your abhorrence. When he moved in your direction, his movements were lethargic yet hurried as if he were internally panicked.

And that was just the tip of the ice berg.

The moment he stood, your eyes instantly fell to the area on his body that _wasn’t_ covered by the black, cotton sheet. You squealed and slapped a hand to shield your eyes, face exploding in heat. “ _PETER_!” You were squirming, unable to delete the image from your mind, but feeling this undeniable desire consume your core. To say it surprised you was an understatement. His nudity — as he so precariously bared for you to see — was sudden, but even you couldn’t help but admit that he was nice to look at. 

For the short couple of seconds that you got to see him, you noticed quite a lot that you never noticed before. Like how he had the right amount of muscles, and how they flexed in retaliation to your screech. His broadened shoulders were ones you wanted to rest your palms on while simultaneously interlocking your thighs around his waist. He grew, and _a lot_. 

“Why are you naked?!” You screeched, hearing him shuffling around on the bed and clumsily landing on the floor.

“Why are you freaking out?! You _know_ I freak out when you freak out!” He whined in a rushed, high-pitched tone as if embarrassment had suddenly overwhelmed him.  

“Be-Because you’re naked!” You sputtered incredulously, feeling exposed and vulnerable knowing that the only thing that was keeping your nude form from his eyes was a very thin sheet.

It went quiet for a moment, and the only thing you could hear was your labored breathing and the loud _thump thump_ of your heartbeat.

“Are you decent?” You whispered meekly. 

He huffed, “Yeah.”

You peaked through the creases of your fingers, eyes darting over his now clothed form. His green and blue flannel was hastily buttoned up, but covering most of his chest and abdomen, and the sweats he had on were hanging slightly off his hips where his v-line was prominent.

You lowered your hand from your face, cheeks glowing. “And where are _my_ clothes?” He shuffled on his feet, and gulped before pointing behind you. You turned around and spotted them in a pile, haphazardly thrown onto the bedroom floor. You shyly reached for them, and held them to your chest.

Peter’s eyes were on you, confused but wild, and he was breathing heavily. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that your small outburst _hadn’t_ worried him, it was visible in his expression.

But then he sucked in a huge gulp of air and his entire face indicated recognition. “Right,” he groaned and ran both of his hands over his face, and spoke in a muffled tone. “You told me you wouldn’t know what was happening when you woke up.”

Now, it was your turn to look at him odd.

“I mean, you didn’t exactly tell me the day, but—” he stopped and looked at you, face softening in that boyish way that made butterflies rupture in your tummy. When he took a step towards you, you clutched the sheet closer to your chest, cheeks ablaze with embarrassment, and _of course_ he noticed. “What year are you from?”

“I’m sorry— _what_?” 

“Year. What year are you from?” His voice lowered, addled by the shift in your tone. “I need to know, so we can figure this out. Like always.” 

“Figure this out…” it was as if you’d been hit with a train, and suddenly his words were registering through your mind and you felt cold all over. You sucked in a breath, “How— how do you—”

“You told me.” His answer was immediate and firm, eyes taking you in like it was the first time he was seeing you, and something flared inside of them. It was almost indescribable, and that discouraged you because you knew almost every one of his expressions, but this one was different, more… ardent and attentive.

“So, you know about it? About everything?” You gulped, nervous energy bubbling up in your chest. Had you really told him _everything_?

“I like to hope so,” he laughed softly, and then scratched the back of his neck while his cheeks exploded in a pink color. “And I take it that you aren’t mine—” he stumbled on his words when you tilted your head. “I meant like we aren’t _together_? From— from the time that you came from?” 

_Together?_ Your stomach fluttered at the word, but you shook your head.

His face fell, and he swallowed harshly. Coming into terms with the fact that this version of you wasn’t his — wasn’t someone he could hold and kiss — made him feel slightly dejected.

The realization that you were still naked and wrapped up in a sheet hit you, and you cleared your throat. “Ah, where’s your— your bathroom? I need to change.” You heaved yourself up, the sheet falling past your thighs and covering up the parts you didn’t particularly want him to see.

He pointed to the place behind you and without saying anything, you turned around and bolted into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. Your back touched the door and you closed your eyes, breathing out as if you had just escaped the most critical moment of your life. To be honest, that _was_ what it felt like.

Forcing yourself away from the door, you walked over to stand in front of the mirror and examined yourself. At the sight of your slightly longer hair, and the way you looked in general, you gasped. There was something different about you, and you couldn’t put your finger on it for many reasons. One of them being that your mind was too preoccupied with thoughts that led you to believe that you in fact had gotten intimate with your best friend the night before, and the another reason was the fact that you couldn’t remember anything. All of that brought you to your main concern: How did you time travel when you hadn’t enforced it in the first place?

You looked down at your watch, and eyed it with curiosity. Maybe you were just _meant_ to be here?

In the midst of your restless mind, you felt your body prick at every single alteration, every brush of the cotton fabric against your skin — the nerves in your body came alight. You wondered why that might be, but then you noticed it; the little marks that decorated your skin, the swelling of your lips, or how your body ached, and how your thighs burned from the traction. What exactly had happened last night?

You sat the clothes down on the counter, and slowly, then all at once, you let the sheet fall into a bunched up pile at your feet. A sound of surprise flew from your lips, and you stood there to take in the multiple love-bites, and scratch marks.

You didn’t think Peter was capable of something this intimate, this _sexual_.

“Are you okay?”  

Your eyes darted away from your nude reflection, cheeks still glowing from earlier events and the dawning realization that you were intimate with your best friend, the person you were completely and pathetically in love with. Unfocused and still in awe, your lips refused to move or make any sign that you were listening. Your eyes subconsciously drifted back over to the mirror, and you felt it then — the lingering memory in the back of your head. It was strong, pushing through and against your cranium. You couldn’t for the life of you remember the night before; there were fleeting sensations like hands gripping at the back of your thighs or warm lips encapsulated, nipping tenderly at your neck, your navel. You wished you could remember. You _wanted_ to remember.  

“[Y/N]?”

You touched your lips with nimble fingers and a faint disbelieving grin graced there. “I-I’m fine,” you turned back to the door, fingers and smile fading. “I think.”  

“Okay…” You could hear the concern in his voice, the deep lethargy there. The nurturing tenderness was like a warm blanket cocooning you whole, clouding your senses — there wasn’t a way to pull away from this.

So, you let it consume you.

“Look,” he sighed and leaned his head against the door. “I know you might not know what exactly is happening, but I want you to know that there’s no reason to be scared, and maybe this time _don’t_ let your fear fuel you.” 

At the mere mention of your own words being aimed at you, your cheeks exploded in heat. It was _definitely_ embarrassment. Images from that day, the day you confessed to him flashed through your mind.

“Pete?” You looked away from the door, and reached for your clothes. 

“Yeah?” 

“What happened after that day?” You began to change, starting with your undergarments and ending with your shirt and jeans.

There was a heavy air that surrounded you, and even though you were separated from the bathroom door, you could still feel him. You knew him and his mind enough to remember that when he got silent, he was thinking.

“What day?”

You picked up the sheet and opened the door, smiling slightly as Peter tripped on his feet. His eyes seemed to light up at the sight of you, and once again, the indescribable expression took place.  

“After I confessed to you.” You smiled, reminiscing. “I’m assuming that’s the reason why we… got together?”

His lips parted in an ‘o’ shape, and his eyes widened a fraction. He didn’t even have to explain, you knew the answer and only confirmed it when his cheeks exploded in that familiar pink shade you knew so well, but you weren’t used to being the reason behind it — that was usually _MJ’s_ doing.

“Y-Yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck once again, a nervous habit of his. “It was sometime after that…” 

You nodded slowly, and sat the sheet down on the stand that was flush against the wall beside you. There was this heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach, and you wanted to know what it was, but every time you tried to interact, Peter’s leveled, infatuated gaze kept you from doing so. He hadn’t stopped looking at you like that ever since he found out that you weren’t exactly _yourself_. 

It wasn’t that you minded the attention, and you were sure that if he kept looking at you like that then you’re legs would give out from underneath you, or you’d do something so entirely unattractive that he would be forced to look away.

“Right.” You licked your dry lips, and his eyes followed the movement closely. The heavy sensation you endured so absentmindedly had finally risen to settle before your chest, and you sucked in a breath of air. “Peter, what’s the date?” 

Fear. It was fear all along. The feeling wasn’t foreign to you, never to you, and yet you found yourself forgetting how to describe it.

“What day is it?” Suddenly, your mouth went dry and your palms grew clammy. 

“Tuesday…” he tilted his head. “Are you okay?” 

“No, Pete— the date. What’s the date?” Your heart skipped a beat at the deafening silence that followed before he spoke the words you dreaded to hear. 

“October third.”

No.

 _No_.

No, no, no, no— _not this_.

It was then you knew the reason that you were here.

Today was the day that Peter Benjamin Parker would die.

-

-

-

“Whoa, whoa, whoa— hey, relax. What’s wrong?” 

You were pacing now. After your initial reaction was for your knees to give out from how weak you suddenly felt, you decided that pacing was the better route. Lord knows that you would’ve given Peter a heart attack if you were to full on freak out. You had to take into consideration by how quick he fed off of your emotions — especially when you were scared.

“Are you sure that’s the day?” You repeated, eyes wide and mouth open enough for your labored breathing to flow in and out with force. He nodded, his hands outstretched towards you in hopes to get you to calm down. It didn’t work, but neither were you panicking _too_ badly. He’s seen worse.

“Tell me what’s going on inside that head of yours.” Your subconscious heard the child-like concern in his voice; how it was raised the slightest, how it pierced through you, and pricked at your skin. You heard it, registered it, but somehow, you couldn’t reassure him that you were okay. 

So, he didn’t know that. He didn’t know _everything_.

A part of you was glad, relieved.

The other part of you wished he knew just so you wouldn’t have to be the only one who was forced to face the truth. God, anything _but_ the truth.

You stopped pacing and curled your fist into your shirt, eyes screwing shut.

You couldn’t tell him — he _wasn’t_ supposed to know.

Maybe he could find a way to reverse it?

 _No_.

“I’m— I’m alright.” _Lie_.

That was your first mistake.

As you turned around, you realized that doing just that was your second mistake. There wasn’t anything more heartbreaking than seeing the absolute terrified look on his face. It pained you, struck at your heart, pulled unforgiving on its strings. When his face presented the fright you had inflicted in him, you wanted to do nothing but force a smile to your face and pretend that you were alright, just for that moment. 

But the damage had already been done. He was already seeing this side to you, this more petrified side of you that had him yearning to see you smile. 

All that registered through you in that moment in time was that you were beyond fearful of the events to come. Today was the day that you watched him die a horribly quick death — something that was still engraved into your skull ‘till this day. 

Breathe. 

All you had to do was breathe. 

It was a simple task, easy and not difficult at all. 

So, why was it that you were finding it too hard to do just that? Your lungs felt like they were closing in as if they would crush your heart or cave until they popped. You couldn’t focus. Your mind was so damaged that you just didn’t know how to live without protecting Peter. 

“There’s so much you still don’t know. I-I don’t know what to do.” You were rambling now, voice conveying the fear that settled into your bones. 

And it had completely taken him off-guard, from start to finish. Seeing you so vulnerable and scared sort of lit something within him, and his mind was on overdrive. He was afraid, and people were afraid of what they didn’t understand. 

“Hey, look at me.” Hands touched your cheeks, holding you like you were meant to be preserved, and you stumbled back slightly in the aftermath of his mind-boggling warmth. You felt intoxicated by his touch, something that made you feel as if you were wrapped up in his personal safe asylum. 

Your eyes found his immediately and you opened your mouth to speak, but before you could get one word out, his lips pecked your once and he pulled away before you could process anything. 

_Well, then there’s_ that _way. Good job, Peter._ His expression said it all, and realization surged through him quicker than he could blink. This was the first time you had been kissed by him — _this_ version of you. 

Your eyes widened, and almost instantly your fingers touched your lips. “You— you kissed me.” 

“Uh,” his face paled and he gulped. “Well, I knew it was the only way to calm you down. I needed to take your mind off of it, and that was the only way I knew how.”

Silence. You seemed to be contemplating over what to say or do next, but he couldn’t overlook just how bright you were glowing. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It’s become a habit, and I just thought—”

In the midst of his rambling, you grabbed his collar and forced him down to your level. The movies make it out to be this hair tingling, heart clenching experience where you feel starstruck, and you can’t think straight. But in all reality, when you crashed your lips onto his, the only obligation you had was to cure the ache in the pit of your stomach. You devoured him, lips hungrily pulling at his, sucking and nipping and _oh_ — you’ve wanted this so much. Your entire body curved into his, you were pressed so inhumanely close to him that you all you desired was to become one.

You didn’t think the kiss would become more intense, but it wasn’t long until Peter slipped his tongue through you lips, mingling with your own. He was making noises, soft little sounds that were crawling up his throat without control.

You were quite enjoying this more submissive side to him. It was all so irrevocably adorable, and when his pinkie interlocked with your own and he pulled you closer, you didn’t think this moment could be anymore cliche.

When the need for air was vital, and you began to feel lightheaded, you released your swollen lips from his. He obliged with half-lidded eyes and leaned down to kiss your laugh lines with a delicateness you didn’t think he had.

Admittedly, you were craving _more_.

You smiled up at him through slightly crossed-eyes, and he smiled back. “You really do know how to make a woman swoon, Parker.”

The blush that covered his cheeks made every ounce of fear in your body disappear for a moment. Just a moment.

And you kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next - and final - part will be posted in a week or so, hopefully! I'm still working on it! I hope you guys like this part! :')) I had fun writing it.


	3. Cling to You | Part 3

He said it was okay to look around — to try and remember all that you’ve missed — while he went out and did his usual morning routine around Queens. You’d have to admit it, you were beyond curious to see what had changed ever since you went back and meddled with time.

Confessing was the way to go, you figured. It was the better route to take when you stood on that roof with your best friend, pouring your heart out to him. 

You were standing in front of a cluttered nightstand, chewing indecisively on your thumbnail while you held out your wrist and examined the ever-ticking watch. it was silver, sprinkled slightly with remnants of time itself. The heirloom was thousands of years old, handed down to you by your grandmother on her deathbed. She was your only parental figure in life, despite having the ever-so-lovable May Parker by your side. 

Your life was turned upside down when you found out about your legacy, your life, how you were born into this world and how you would conquer it. It took a while for you to process anything after that, but Peter was there for you even if he didn’t know about anything at the time. 

He knew now, though, and that possibly scared you more than anything. 

You looked away from the everyday reminder, and your focus captured something else shortly after. Photos that were tucked neatly in their frames lined the shelves; you took them in individually, all separately. There was one where Peter was kissing your forehead, and you were staring up at him through crossed eyes. The genuine happiness in his expression took you off-guard, but you loved it anyway. You don’t remember this day, no matter how hard you forced yourself to, you couldn’t remember. 

You sat the frame down and moved onto another one. Your cheeks were pressed to his chest, a smile on your face, but this time you were more timid, anxious. Peter had his hand wrapped around your lower back, the two of you reclined horizontally on your couch while he held the Polaroid and snapped the picture. He was looking at the flash, but you were looking up at him. 

Your heart constricted against your chest at your expression. You looked so… in love. Much how you were now, but it was as if you were just realizing it for the first time. This photo was an older one, and you were slightly younger than you were now. You remembered this day. It was the day you had fallen ill and hadn’t shown up for work, and Peter being the best friend that he was, ended up coming over and taking care of you. This day was also the day you found out about his secret. 

Tears collect in your eyes, and you sat it down, moving onto another one. A part of you wanted to stop looking at these, and just forget about it, but another part of you — that more stubborn side to you — wanted to keep searching because you knew that if you didn’t at least try then you’d regret it for the rest of your life. 

Your fingers skimmed across a silver-edged frame and held it close to your face. In the picture, Peter’s hand was squishing your cheeks together to the point where your lips were puckered and once again your eyes were crossed in a silly mannered way. You had to have been laughing at something from the obvious laughter lines you presented and from what you could see, he had his lips puckered as well, the same silly face bored into his own. You didn’t think a pair of brown eyes could shine so damn bright, but his had. 

You couldn’t remember this day. 

Sitting the frame down, you wipe incessantly at your cheeks because now the tears were racing down your cheeks. You screwed your eyes shut in hopes to relieve the pain you felt in that moment, but it wouldn’t go away, and the memories didn’t come back. Nothing triggered you, and all that was there was a loss that didn’t really feel like it even belonged to you. 

An almost inaudible noise caught your attention, and you turned away from the pictures to watch as Peter stumbled his way through his window. He was in the middle of working his mask off his head when he noticed the tears in your eyes, and how vulnerable you looked. 

You swiped at your cheeks for what felt like the thousandth time that day, but the action hadn’t gone unnoticed by him because nothing ever did when it came to you. Peter noticed everything, and when he saw you crying a part of him felt sick to his stomach. 

Ripping the mask off his face, he stumbled over to you with wobbly and uncertain steps while concern etched clear across his face. You instantly felt pathetic. “Hey, what’s that for?” He cooed as he reached you, taking your cheeks in between his palms and brushing the tears away tenderly. The worry lines on his face were visible, and you hated yourself for making him that way. “What is it? Did you remember anything?” 

“No,” you whispered, voice hoarse. You just stood there, and let his hands warm you. “I can’t remember anything. I can’t remember and that’s killing me inside.” 

“We’ll keep trying, alright? I’m sure the memories are still in here—” he touched your temple and smiled that charming smile of his, making your insides turn to mush. “—in that beautiful mind of yours.”

“My mind’s not the most beautiful place right now…” Your chin dipped, your insecurities corrupted your thoughts. 

“Yeah, well, I  _worship_ you. Your mind, your  _conscious_. [Y/N], you’re brilliant,” his fingers touched your chin and tilted it upwards so he could stare you right in the eyes and make sure you knew he meant it. “Everything about you is incredible and unique, and I’m the luckiest guy in the world because you share it all with me. And nothing can take that away from us, from me.”

You sucked in a harsh breath, eyes held captive by his brown ones that were alive with nothing but adoration and devotion. You felt his words skyrocket off the walls of your eardrums and echoed in your head. 

But this wasn’t some movie. “Cut the scripted talk, Pete. This is real— bad things  _can_  happen. Bad, terrible things. Things I might not have any control over—”

“ _[Y/N]._ ” 

You didn’t remember looking away, but as soon as your eyes met his earnest brown ones, they held you captive. He had spoken your name like it was the most precious thing in this vile world.

You didn’t respond — not yet — not when all your brain knew was mayhem. Corrupted with indefinite truths, thoughts that would soon come to be. 

How were you going to look at him as if everything were fine? 

“I know, okay? I  _know_  you’re scared and you think that maybe something might happen, but I’m  _here_. That has to mean something, yeah? We’re here.  _Alive_.” He brought your face close to him, suddenly attentive, and pressed his lips to your forehead. You swore you felt his lips quiver when they touched your skin, but you didn’t meddle on the matter. 

“But… but what if something happens to you? A-a-and I’m not there to— to help you? I keep thinking that something will happen and I don’t want to lose you, I can’t lose you, Peter. I know that sounds absurd, but I just don’t know what would happen if I lost you aga—” you cut yourself off, looking into his wild and confused brown eyes. You guessed he was feeding off of your emotions. “I’m sorry, I just— I just don’t…” 

“[Y/N],  _nothing_  is going to happen to me. I promise.” He spoke hurriedly, but his voice wavered and cracked. You knew he was scared — you were scaring him. His hands pushed a little further into your cheeks as if he was trying to enunciate his promise, or how much he meant it. “We’re like two halves of a whole, remember? There’s no separating us. I won’t let the world take you from me.”

This world was a pitiful, spiting, and selfish thing. If the world was going to bite, Peter was going to bite back. If it dare take you from him, he would make sure that the world saw how desperate he could really be. 

You frowned and pulled away completely from his touch. He grasped at thin air for a moment, eyes wide as you curled your arms into your stomach; a simple defense mechanism, one he knew all too well. 

Neither of you said another word.

-

-

-

The swing over to F.E.A.S.T. was short and exhilarating. One thing you were very happy you didn’t forget was how swinging with Peter made you feel. From building to building as the slight fall breeze blew past you, and through your hair. You had the pleasure of being able to hide your face in the crook of his neck, nose bumping ever-so-slightly against his jaw, while still being able to see the buildings as you flew past them. 

It was all in a blur. 

Your feet touched the ground, and you pulled away even when your heart was begging you not to. You were breathing heavily, chest rising and falling fast but calm. 

“Are you alright?” His voice was low and concerning, muffled behind his mask.

You didn’t want to pretend everything was okay because it wasn’t. It  _wasn’t_. Once you were around people, you had to build up that facade, and you had to lie. Lying was such a rudimentary term, yet it was  _so_  difficult to do. 

“Y-Yeah,” you nodded, plastering on that forced reassuring smile as Peter began to shed his mask, and suit. “It’s just… I haven’t done that in a while.” 

“Swinging?” He breathed out, clambering out of his suit and into his normal clothes that were in a duffle bag next to the roof door. It wasn’t very discrete. “When was the last time you did it — that we did it?” He paused, cheeks flaming red, ablaze with embarrassment. “Wait. I— I didn’t mean it like that because that would be— wait you know I didn’t mean it like that, right?” 

“And when the mask is off, he’s an even bigger buffoon, ladies and gentlemen.” You hid your foolish grin behind your hand, chewing subconsciously on your thumbnail. The sight of him standing there with that boyish charm, that natural shyness that you adored with his unkempt chocolate brown hair and twinkling brown eyes, made your heart flutter and thump and pound and possibly every little thing it could do. 

Your grin always was infectious. 

It had the ability to make him smile on his more darker days. 

He sucked in a breath, eyes traversing your frame with innocent, hunger-filled eyes and then he walked over to you. Gently tugging your hand away from your mouth, he watched completely smitten, as you became flustered. There was a child-like curiosity lurking, wishing to know what was going on in that mind of yours. 

And to his unawareness, you were thinking the same. You wanted to know what he was thinking. He had to be thinking — he was  _always_  thinking. 

He opened his mouth, and you held your breath. His head dipped slowly, soft brown curls falling onto you, and with utmost fragility, he pressed a kiss to your fingertips. 

“Let’s go inside.” 

-

-

-

There was this fleeting thought that always managed to sneak past the barricades you so effortlessly built up over the years. You thought nothing of the casualties up until you met someone —  _something_  — who was worth losing, who would absolutely tear you to pieces with its absence —  _their_ absence. 

The feeling was inevitable. It was like drowning, gasping for air, but at the same time you allowed it all because you knew that it would always be there and it would always remind you of what little time you had left. 

You understood that it was going to suffocate you, drown you, choke you,  _break_  you. 

Everything was bound to lead up to this particular point in time. It was a future in which you created because you did one thing different in the past. If you would have never confessed to him on that roof top, if you would have never let go when you knew he needed to catch his breath, it wouldn’t have led you back to this point in time. To the future in which you’d been dreaming about since you first met him. 

And now here you were, trying to figure out how the hell you’d survive this destruction. 

It was  _bound_  to happen.  

“Aunt May, watch out!” You leapt forward, and lunged for her just as a massive amount of debris and fiery wood came plunging to the floor. Smoke was everywhere, you could hardly see, you could barely notice that May was in danger. It was the sound of her retched hacking that caught your attention just as you were ushering a group of F.E.A.S.T.’s residents out of a nearby window. 

The two of you landed harshly on the floor, flames licked at your soot covered skin. The fire was spreading and with every passing second you prayed Peter wouldn’t show up and save the day. 

Just this once. 

You wanted him to  _not_  save the damn day. 

A lot had happened in the last couple of hours. A lot having to deal with Li and his men(or was it Otto and his inflated ego?) and how he couldn’t leave the people of this city alone for one damn day. You were working peacefully with May and Miles when the alarm blared obnoxiously through the building. Everyone went into a frenzy after that, and that’s when you noticed the fire and the smoke and how badly it  _burned_ your lungs. MJ came shortly after, even telling you that she would call Pete despite how many times you tried to get her  _not_ to. She didn’t understand why you were acting that way — couldn’t understand why you made it your mission to prevent her from getting more help. 

You didn’t understand it either. 

“May! Are you hurt?” You clambered off of her, and stood on wobbly feet. Offering her your hand, she looked up and took it without hesitation, still trying to hide the fact that she was coughing up a storm. 

That’s all this was, just a storm. It would pass, but not before leaving carnage in its path. 

“May?” You asked again, worry lacing your tone. 

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Th— Thank you.” She gave you a reassuring grin, and wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. 

“Okay, good. Good,” your eyes darted over towards the plank that Miles so graciously laid down to connect one side of the room over to the area where the window sat. It was your only other option for escape. You looked back over at May, “I need you to walk across and make it out with Miles and MJ. This place is going to crumble if we don’t get out soon.”  

“What about you?” Her eyes were pleading and frightful. 

“I’ll be right behind you.” She hesitated, “Now go.” 

You watched on with worry, breath held as she unsteadily made her way across to an awaiting MJ and Miles. They were holding out their arms; soothing shouts, wild eyes, beckoning her to not look down — that  _whatever_ she did, she was to  _not_  look down. You had that thought multiple times, but couldn’t bring yourself to witness the pit of burning wood and consuming black smoke ascending upwards to meet you. 

When she made it across safely, you breathed out, lungs still crackling from the ample amount of smoke you inhaled. 

“Alright, [Y/N], your turn. C’mon!”

Fear spiked your chest, and you sucked in a breath of air before nodding. Holding out your arms, you reluctantly pressed on foot onto the plank, wincing when it teetered slightly. 

“You can do it, [Y/N]! Just don’t look down!” MJ shouted with a raspy voice, eyes wide as she watched you closely. 

You weren’t going to look down. 

You weren’t. 

 _You wouldn’t_. 

But your body did the exact opposite, and without really giving yourself enough time to process what your body already had, your eyes bounced back and forth between the plank, your feet, and the mounting flames. 

The harsh realization hit you with force and you stumbled on your feet. You could hear the petrified shouts of Miles, May, and MJ at your sudden fatal locus, but the noise faded when the plank shook from your weight. It all happened so fast. You slipped, feet scuffled off the edge of the wood, but before you could fall you managed to grab onto it. You held your breath just as the plank tore slightly, flames melting away the bark. From the fall, your forehead had gotten pretty scratched up; blood pricked at the scrapes embedded in your skin. A headache occurred. 

“ _[Y/N]!_ ” 

“Sweetheart, are you alright?”

“Holy shit!”

Three frantic voices all called out to you, raspy and booming. 

You were still able to feel the flames licking at the soles of your shoes. Fortunately, they were a good feet below you. 

Unfortunately? The plank wasn’t strong enough to hold your weight above a flaming pit of fire.

“Ah, guys? I— I don’t think—” 

The sound of splintering wood caught your attention, and your eyes flung over to the source. Within milliseconds, you felt it break and you snapped your eyes shut, accepting that this was your fate. 

You were falling, 

falling, 

falling,

 _floating_ —

—but then that’s when you felt the pull of something, and your body ceased in mid air. Something wrapped around your torso, and you opened your eyes. You slowly took in the webbing, feeling the weight lift from your chest as you located the source of your savior. 

“I got you!” 

The fear in his voice was loud and pusillanimous. His suit was torn in several places where you were able to see parts of his wounded skin, half of his mask was torn — you could see one of his eyes and his full mouth. What had happened to him? Had it been Otto? Or Li? The thought of them hurting Peter in any way made your stomach churn with disgust. 

You gripped onto the web that held you up, breathing erratically. 

He wasn’t supposed to be here. 

Not here. 

Not right now. 

“Are you okay?” 

Paralyzed by the inevitable fear, you only stared at him. You couldn’t process his words, his worry,  _him_. 

“Talk to me, baby,” he croaked, beginning to pull you up. You felt the tugging of the web and his face became more close, more clear. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. It’s okay.” 

You heard the sound of something tearing, and looked up just in time to see a chunk of the roof slanting downward. 

 _N O. He can’t be here. HE ISN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE. No, no, no, no, no_ —

“You’re not supposed to be here.” You whispered it, low and with a child-like fear that bore through the concrete walls you built up. Tears pooled in your eyes, and you felt it then — the drop in your chest, the hairs on your arms, the subtle hints of abandonment. 

You were so close to the ledge. 

So,  _so_  close…

“It’s alright. I got you.” His voice was heavily distorted, worried and — he choked back a sob. Pulling you up, his fingers trembled as they interlocked around your wrist. 

You had your other hand hooked around a rusty pipe slightly below the ledge. It was sturdy enough to keep you from slipping, you just had to hold onto it tight enough so you wouldn’t fall.  

The building croaked as it shook. 

Your eyes darted to the piece of rubble that was hanging on by a thin,  _thin_ thread. 

That thread was not  _strong_  enough to wait. 

And you were too late to notice when it broke free from the ceiling. 

“PETER!” Just as you found the strength to scream as loud as your lungs could allow, he turned and looked above him, and the rubble merely skimmed his suit. It surpassed your form and sunk into the arising flames below. Your heart had skyrocketed, but faltered when the piece melted away. “P-Peter?” You tore your eyes away from the fire and searched frantically for him. 

A silent minute passed, and you weren’t even able to see Miles, MJ, or May. You figured everyone else was either out of the building – having been ordered by Pete himself — or they were somewhere your eyes could not reach.

Suddenly, a head popped up and you sighed eyes watering instantly. “I’m okay!” He grunted, hands reaching for the web with panicked movements as he continued to pull you the rest of the way up. 

“Peter—”

“Shh, it’s alright. I got you.”

No. 

      _No_. 

You breathed because that was the only thing you could do with such little time left because you knew what was about to happen, and  _it didn’t matter_. 

The utter hopelessness that stabbed at your heart forced your body to react to the second massive piece of rubble that tore from its hinges, and that’s when the silence filled your ears. You felt dizzy, nauseous, lightheaded as overwhelming cognizant thoughts devoured your mind.  

 _The calm before the storm._  

_NO NO NO … STOP IT STOP IT PLEASE NO NO NO NO N O—_

It all happened in slow motion. You watched with terror as it knocked Peter right from his parch on the edge. It hit his head too hard, he was paralyzed — it damaged his senses before he could react. 

“ _NO_!” A painful, inhuman scream tore from your chest as you watched him descend into the flames. 

It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter,  _it didn’t matter_ —

—you couldn’t have done anything to stop it. 

And you were the one to blame. You were. You blamed yourself for his death. You blamed yourself for trying to prevent it from happening even though you knew it was impossible. His death was set in stone, there was nothing you could’ve done, nothing you were capable of fixing. 

 _You_  

      _couldn’t_  

           _save_  

                _him_. 

And your eyes were adjusting to the dark, you were learning to be able to go on without him — you were going to be  _okay_. But the light came back, and it flooded your senses, it made you feel limitless, like you could touch it without fading. That light came in the form of Peter Benjamin Parker, that light was always Peter, and you were okay for that short while, you had that light back — it consumed you and you let it. You knew you shouldn’t have though despite how happy it made you feel — how happy  _he_  made you feel. You just couldn’t help yourself, he was the definition of euphoria, the light at the end of the tunnel, the stars in the skies, the strings that tugged on your heart. 

Peter was otherworldly. He was kind beyond any human you’d ever met, he made your dark days brighter when you thought it wouldn’t matter because it did matter. It mattered so much. He mattered. He was your home; the person you couldn’t live without, the one thing you couldn't stop finding comfort in. 

That’s what life wanted for you. It wanted to give you this perfect enigma wrapped up in someone you could give your all to, and then it wanted to take it away like a blanket being wrenched away from a toddler’s hands. 

It was cruel, cruel,  _cruel_. 

Why couldn’t you have what you wanted? 

Why couldn’t you have Peter back?

Why?

 _You just wanted Peter back_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was c r a p. Phew, I am sorry that it took so long and still ended up shitty. Forgive me. 
> 
> Also, this is the final part! I am so happy that this is done! I had so much fun writing it though! <3 Thank you for all of the support and comments, you guys are the best!


	4. Under the Mistletoe

_“What is wrong with you?”  
_

The words dripped like venom from your tongue and bled with trepidation. Every part of you felt cold, but the heater ran perfectly. The snow outside was still falling, drizzling on the windowsill, the fire-escape, the railings. It was beautiful, but in this moment, you couldn’t pull apart the beauty of it all. Not when your anger was solely focused on how heavy your heart felt. 

“I’m sorry! I— I had to g-go. (Name), please, you have to understand just how much—”

“It’s important to you, I get it.” You snarled, tears welling up in your eyes. You wrapped your arms around your mid-section as your head lowered to avoid his crestfallen expression. 

You could just imagine how much regret was swimming around in his veins by the tone of his voice alone; the expression was nowhere half as exposing as his face was. 

A slow unpleasant hiss echoed throughout the room, and your eyes met his once again, unable to keep your prying and worried eyes off him. The cuts and bruises that littered his cheekbones, chin, forehead were all staring back at you as if they knew he was your ultimate weakness. As he held his torn red mask in his hand while the other gripped onto his shoulder blade that was, no doubt, bleeding, you wondered how long it would be before you finally gave up on him. 

“You are damaged goods, Parker.” You scolded, a pout lining the corners of your lips.

He almost chuckled at that, but his eyes were following the trails of your tears. When you were in pain something always fired off in his head; a warning of sorts. It was his body telling him that he needed to stop it, to fix it, to do something to prevent you from hurting. 

“Can you… please?” He whispered, voice shaky. “Help me, please.”

“I—” your mouth parted once, then closed quickly. You clenched your fists, then inhaled. “No.” 

“No?”

“I won’t help you,” you replied defiantly, uncrossing your arms to reach for your jacket that hung precariously over the couch. “I’m done.”

As you slipped into your jacket, you walked to the door, heart daring to beat out of your chest. 

“What do you mean you’re done?” Peter cried after you, desperation in his voice. 

You turned around before you got out the door, eyes narrowed, “It’s Christmas Eve, for fuck’s sake. I’m going home to be with my family. I’m— I’m going to be happy instead of scared,” you suppressed a sigh of irritation, eyes burning with tears once again. “All the damn time.” 

“You can’t just run away!” His eyes were wide and fearful, hands begging to reach out and grasp for you with the force of a scared child. 

“But here I am, running away,” you turned away and wrapped your hand on the doorknob, “From you.” 

You didn’t stick around to see if he chased after you, but you never ran down the hall as quick as you did in that moment. The elevator was too slow, so you took the stairs, chest heaving, lungs screaming. You couldn’t shatter now. There was time to break later. 

When you got to the doubled doors at the exit of the building, you used your forearms to push open the door. But instead of the doors opening fully, you met with a barricade of snow. Some of it even managed to slip in through the crease of the door when you opened it slightly. 

Looking down through the glass window, you grumble in protest. A thick coat of stark white snow had climbed about halfway up the door. In that moment it was obvious; you were definitely trapped in this God forsaken building with no way out until the snow cleared up. 

“Are you  _kidding_ me?” You whined, forehead smacking onto the window of the door. “C’mon! I don’t wanna stay  _here_. I was winning the argument,” you shoved the tip of your boot into the bottom part of the door repeatedly, “Why, why, why, why, why—”

“(Name), ah, are you… okay?” A stertorous voice filled with heavy confusion brought you to slowly pick your head up from the window. 

Turning around, you came face to face with Peter. He was noticeably out of breath, hands clutching onto his abdomen, face twisted in ailment. The turmoil was eating away at his insides as he watched you practically fling yourself away from his presence like a madwoman. It only took him a few seconds to go after you, and when he heard your voice, distressed and hoarse, he ran the rest of the way to you. He was admittedly out of breath because of his injuries which made running ten times more hard work. 

“Snowed in…” you mumbled dejectedly, throwing a lazy thumb over your shoulder. 

Peter’s eyes followed to where you gestured to, eyes widening with shock before realization dawned on him. He exhaled, and loudly. “Jesus Christ, (Name), I thought you were hurt!”

“I rather would’ve been,” you huffed, turning back around to kick the door once more. You let out a high-pitched, strangled screech. “ _Stupid fucking door!_ ”

Your words hurt, he couldn’t deny it. 

Peter was a sensitive person, and when it came to you, it was like all his senses feened for your happiness. When you weren’t happy, he felt every last bit of the emotion that was running around in your blood. It was all so  _very_ overwhelming. 

He cleared his throat, and you stopped. Slowly, you turned around to look at him with squinted eyes, prompting that you wanted to know what he wanted. He scratched the back of his neck and continued, “The snow won’t melt in a short period of time,” he said, and you quirked an eyebrow. “Why don’t you just have Christmas here,” you frowned. “With me, I mean. Christmas with me.” 

God, even as you looked at him like the most hated person on the planet, he still couldn’t help but have no control over the roaring swarm of butterflies in his stomach. 

For a split second, your face softened, and that tender look glowed in your eyes again. It was one of his favorite looks. But before you could get too lost, the reality sunk back into your chest, and you gave him your best icy glare. 

“I think I’ll pass, Bug Boy.” With a forced huff, you plopped down on the ground, back pressed uncomfortably to the doubled doors. 

A sigh, then, “( _Name_ )…”

“No. I’m mad at you.” You fidgeted with the hem of your turtleneck sweater, trying to force down the vulnerability he brought out of you with just a movement of his lips. 

He was always trying to prove to you just how brilliant you were, how much he trusted you, cared about you, craved to get closer— mentally if not physically— but they were all subtle hints, and you didn’t  _understand_ him. 

He grumbled, feet scuffling along the ground, bringing him closer to you. With a huff, he plopped down next to you, thigh instantly touching yours, emitting an electrical shock from the proximity. 

You held your breath, not being able to look at him. Eyes screwed shut, breath coming out in short sporadic puffs, knees wobbly even as you sat down, heart daring to confess to the absolute admiration you had for him despite how angry you were. 

The Holy Trinity. 

Life was fucked up that way. 

“Can you be mad at me  _inside_?” He nudged his shoulder to yours, his lips curving slightly. “It’s freezing out here.”

Still, you said nothing. Too busy trying to win a battle with your heart and force it silent. It was no use— no matter what you did, your heart would always beat for Peter. He was the sole purpose. 

“C’moooon. We can decorate, set up the Christmas tree—”

“You have a Christmas tree?” You asked, eyes remaining focused elsewhere. 

He smiled and stared at you with a yearning so powerful that it was hard to ignore, but still, it became unbeknownst to you. “The tree you bought me that one Christmas,” he reminisced. 

It was then your eyes flew up to lock with his, wide and shock-filled. “Peter, that was like five years ago,” he nodded, and your face softened with a sweet fondness. “You kept it?” 

He smiled again, and you wondered what it was about his smile that made you want to pepper his face with kisses. In moments like these, it was then you truly realized that he was the epitome of all things bright and innocent. 

“Alright, let’s go inside. I promise we will decorate until are hands are trembling and our minds are nothing but mush from the wine.” He stood up, offering you an expectant hand, staring at you with pink cheeks. 

“Wine?” You quirk an eyebrow. The thought of drinking with Peter sounded interesting, but you liked to talk when you were tipsy— that wasn’t always a good thing. One minute you could be laughing, and then you could be confessing to your best friend that he is, ultimately, the love of your life. 

“Yeah,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and even though you knew he was joking around, there was some part of you that wanted him to further explain the consequences of this journey. 

“You are very pushy, you know that?”  

“I like to think of it as optimistic.” His reply was instant, the smile never left his face. He wiggled his fingers in a gesture for you to take his hand, and you bit your lip to prevent a grin from blooming across your face. 

“Fine,” you slap your hand onto his, and his fingers immediately curl around your tinier ones, making a shiver crawl up your arms. “But no funny business, Parker.”

“Yeah.” 

“I mean it.” 

“Okay.”

“Peter,” you scolded in warning, looking up from the ground beneath you to catch the sight of his brown ones already staring at you, but then quickly looked away at the realization that he had been caught with the bonus of his hand still wrapped securely around yours. 

In that moment, you felt heat pool in your cheeks, while his were bright as a tomato. 

“Sorry, habit.” He chuckled, dropping your hand. 

You instantly missed his warmth. 

Arriving at the door, he elbowed it open while facing you, afraid that if he turned his back to you for more than a second you would run away again. 

Guilt climbed up your chest, squeezing at your heart, causing you to give him the best assured expression you could muster. His face lit up in retaliation, that boyish charm resurfacing over his cherubic features. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said, the sweet timbre of your voice causing his heart to flutter, untamed and wild. 

He gave you a nod, albeit slow and hesitant, but your smile still broadened. 

You nodded behind him, and walked back into the room with grace, shedding your coat when you got to the foot of the coffee table that sat in the middle of the living area. The Christmas tree, that stood tall and stunning, was in the corner and how you managed to overlook it when you were last here, you had no clue. No lights tangled around the Christmas tree, there was no Holiday setting besides the small and almost unnoticeable decorated picture frames. Some were of you and Peter being the ridiculous dorks that you were together, and some were of Mary Jane, or Miles, and even May and Ben from before he died. 

Warm merriment consumed you, and you inhaled contently through your nose. Glancing over at Peter, you noticed he was standing by a couple of boxes labeled “Christmas things”. He stared back at you bashfully, his smile reflecting the stars that shined in your eyes. 

“Shall we?” He lifted one from the floor and gestured to the tree behind you. 

You gave in, signing deeply before the two of you got into the groove of decorating the tree. Somewhere along the way, you took a break and got the wine bottle then poured yourself and Peter a glass of the red liquid. It was strong, but you didn’t drink enough to get intoxicated. That was for another time, when your mind was still reeling with the possibility that something of utter important might slip if not careful, and fully sober enough to catch yourself. 

“Hand me the star.” You spoke in contentment, the events from earlier not as important to stress about any further. 

Seconds later the star was slipped into your hand, suddenly overcome by a strong sensation when his fingers ghosted over your own. They weren’t cold or too hot, they had been just the right amount of warm and the feeling delved deeper into your bones, your veins. There was a spark of something, and when it hand moved away, the warmth went with him. 

You hadn’t been staring directly at him when the brief gesture happened, but when he pulled away as if something had burned into his skin, when you knew that he felt the same thing you did, it caught you completely off-guard. The action alone was enough to have your knees wobbling, and wavering. 

You gripped onto the latter, eyes wide as you steadied yourself. “Whoa.”

“Are— Are you okay?” His voice was small and raspy, filled with lethargy. 

“Yeah,” you gripped the star in your hand, and reached upwards as you tried to set the ornament on the very tip of the already glowing tree. Being short had its disadvantages, and it proved even more so when your feet caught on a corner of the latter just as you were about to move onto the next higher step.  

In the blink of an eye, you had lost all sense of coordination and control of your footing. You held your breath as your body craned backwards, the inevitability of the events that played out for you on a loop, catching as you landed on something other than the ground below you. 

 _Humph_.

Arms instantly encompassed around your frame, holding you tightly. Peter’s body shook once then he exhaled with a hiss, an undertone of relief dripping from his tongue. His arms tightened around you before, “(Name).”

“What?” You kept your eyes screwed shut, heart still beating erratically inside the cage you held it in. 

“You can open your eyes now.” 

“No, I don’t want to.” You whispered, voice hushed and attentive. Peter’s proximity wasn’t helping your case either, not when you could feel the warmth of his breath on your nose and cheekbones. 

A genuine laugh, then, “Did you think I wouldn’t have caught you?” 

“I was suspecting…” You admitted, feeling a small grin of your own dance innocently across your lips. 

Silence crowded the space between you, but it took everything in you to keep your eyes closed for fear that you would encounter a more vulnerable side to Peter, the side that you were dreading of being close to. 

It was too late. 

You opened your eyes, peeking up at him through long lashes. 

“( _Name_ )?” He murmured, breathless with searching eyes. They were frantic as they moved across your face; anywhere from your lips to your eyes, to your nose and your cheeks. Oh boy. 

You hummed in reply, eyes never having the decency of moving anywhere but his own brown and captivating ones. They were like the leaves on a wilting tree branch, ready to grow again, blooming into something more warm and filled with that of nature. 

You could lose yourself in them. 

His head dipped, but he didn’t get any closer than that. As if hesitance filled him, he pulled away the slightest and then awkwardly chuckled, pointing to the mistletoe above you. 

You followed the movement of his hand and instantly tried to fight back the heat that threatened to fill every inch of your body. With a shy twitch of your mouth, your eyes flew down to meet those of the man who held you bridal style in his arms. You didn’t think the thought of setting you back down on your feet even crossed his mind, or it did, and he just refused to stop touching you. 

Either way, you weren’t bothered by it. 

“Did you put that there, Parker?” You asked, voice laconic. 

Immediately, and just as his cheeks gained a noticeable red tint to them, he shook his head as if to save his dignity. With valiance, he took it as far as backing himself up verbally with a simple and apprehensive, “No.”

With a tender hum, you quirked a brow and one corner of your lips turned upwards at his  _obvious_ lie. You could see right through him. 

“Well,” you interlocked your fingers together as your forearms rested over the back of his neck. “Are you gonna kiss me or what?” 

And if that boy had any ounce of confidence in him, he used every last bit of it to lean down without a second’s hesitation and gradually capture your lips with his.


End file.
